Monday, May 16, 2016

A Dog's Life

A stay of execution: one last day, 
your day, old Everydog, then, as they say, 
or as we say (a new trick to avoid 
finalities implicit in destroyed), 
you have to be put down, or put to sleep— 
the very dog who, once, would fight to keep 
from putting down, despite our shouts, a shoe 
until he gnawed it to the sole, and who 
would sit up, through our sleepless nights, to bark 
away some menace looming in the dark. 

Can you pick up the sense of all this talk? 
Or do you still just listen for a walk
or else, the ultimate reward, a car?— 
My God, tomorrow's ride . . . Well, here we are, 
right now. You stare at me and wag your tail. 
I stare back, dog-like, big and dumb. Words fail. 
No more commands, ignore my monologue, 
go wander off. Good dog. You're a good dog. 
And you could never master, anyway, 
the execution, as it were, of Stay.

Inspired by valsvoguexo